folding paper cranes
even when your hands get cramped
and your eyes tired,
working past blisters and
simply because something in you
opening its wings.
from The New York Poem
...a mute sadness settles in,
like dust, for the long, long haul. But if
I do not get up and sing,
if I do not get up and dance again,
the savages will win...
I'll be back with a pumpkin ice cream recipe for you soon.
A List of Summer Picnic Bowls
1 day ago